Her Mother's Daughter
by Cimberlea
Summary: Isabella Lestrange spent the years since her parents arrest home schooled, but now she wants to join Hogwarts. If things aren't difficult enough for her, disturbing letters only add fuel to the flames. Just as things look like they're going well, everything falls apart including her love life. Starts 4th book and continues through to the 7th.
1. That Night

Half past seven, a very reasonable time to put a child to bed one would say, never a time a child would like to go to sleep. Not without the necessary preamble. Isabella had never been able to sleep without a bedtime story and her mother was always one to oblige, a mother was made to indulge her child.

"Mummy, tell the one about the Nargles!" Isabella squealed excitably.

"What do we say when we want something, Izzy?" The mother crowed, her voice not quite able to chide the little girl in the way she knew she should; too soft, too loving to be a telling off.

The girl giggled, knowing she would get her demand as she often did wherever her mother was concerned, "Please." She said, earning a proud grin from her mother.

The woman chuckled fondly, a noise you would not expect from someone usually so fierce; though whenever she was around her daughter it was impossible to imagine who she really was and what she was capable of. "Good." She praised, nothing ever pleased a mother more so than hearing an offspring be polite. "Now we'll begin. One day a curious little girl, named Izzy, went on her merry way to her favourite garden where she suddenly-"

"BELLATRIX!" The girl's father shouted from downstairs. "Here. Now!"

Her mother looked worried, there was something in her father's voice that scared them both; it was more than anger, more than fear. Isabella could not put her finger on just what it was, but it was not something she would ever wish to hear. Her father could be mean at times. Times when he thought Isabella were sleeping. Times when he thought he was alone with his wife. It was strange for his tone to be quite so harsh when Isabella was still known to be awake.

"In a minute, I'm just tucking Izzy in." Her mother hedged, evidently she did not want to know what was so urgent. Isabella much preferred it when her father worked away, that we he could not make her mother quite so sad. The only times her mother ever cried were when her father was due home.

"The girl's old enough to go to bed without a story by now!" Her father replied, he had always hated stories and believed that by six years of age a child should not need them to be able to sleep. Isabella knew already she would have to do without. It was not that it helped her sleep, it was more that it allowed her and her mother to be alone together. The stories were just an added benefit for her mother told the most fantastic tales.

The mother sighed, Isabella's father could turn nasty very easily - they both knew that. "I'll tell you two new stories tomorrow, I promise." She vowed, a crease forming at her brow. "Goodnight, Izzy." She placed her lips to her daughter's head.

Isabella accepted her mother's kiss to her forehead, knowing that her mother would stay true to her promise as she always had. "Night, mummy." She half-sulked.

He mother reluctantly stood before striding to the door. Isabella knew her mother should not leave him waiting. He hated waiting. Waiting for even the smallest thing could put him in a mood.

"Bellatrix!" Came another blast from the bottom of the stairs.

She watched as her mother rolled her eyes, "I love you, sweetheart." He mother voiced before departing.

Below all that could be heard were harsh words only half-whispered. Usually her father would at least attempt to keep the conversation unheard, but this time she could hear almost every other word. She knew this would be no ordinary falling out about the price of robes or the quality of the housework. This one would be big. The biggest one yet. Even at six years old, she could sense that.

Silently, Isabella crept out of bed and through the still open bedroom door, stopping at the top of the stairs where it was still dark enough for her to go unseen. Her mother and father were joined by another; her uncle on her father's side, Rabastan. He rarely visited and Isabella knew that her mother disliked him very much. Isabella did not like him much either. After all, she was her mother's daughter.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. Isabella could feel it in her bones. Bad things were about to happen. Bad things always happened when her uncle visited. Six years was old enough to realise that her parents, more so her father, were not the most liked people in the world. Whispers buzzed about them like flies, rumours clung like bad smells. She was used to that, but her uncle never had any company. No one ever mentioned him if they could help it.

"We can't do this now, Rudolphus." Bellatrix refused, glaring pointedly from Rabastan to the stairs, where Isabella perched on the landing, cloaked in thick shadow and knowing she had not been seen.

Rabastan looked somewhat bored, "We are only doing what we must to find the Dark Lord, or had _motherhood_ wiped that from your memory?" He mocked. His face morphing into an arrogant sneer, the sneer of someone who knows their remark has hit home.

Bellatrix turned on him. "It's been a year since He disappeared, much as I would wish Him back, we will not find anything of Him!" Isabella had heard of this Dark Lord, it was who her father worked for and she assumed her mother had at some point. It had been over a year since her mother had worked though, she did not miss it even though she got to stay with her aunt Andromeda for a few days.

Rudolphus struck his wife and not for the first time, Isabella could not remember a time when her father had been pleasant to either of them. "That is not your true fear, _my love_." He drawled. Isabella did not think he meant that last bit to be affectionate at all, in fact she believed it to be taken as an insult almost.

She blanched. "Think of Isabella, if we are caught who will look after her?" Bellatrix countered, refusing to acknowledge any pain she may have incurred.

He husband leered, "You need witnesses to be caught and I do not intend to leave any."

Isabella gasped, it did not take more than the mind of a small child to know what her father was implying; he was going to kill someone. From conversations she definitely was not supposed to overhear, this would not be the first time. His no-nonsense demeanour never normally gave Isabella any reason to doubt him, but this time his over-confidence her unsure.

"We will leave now and be back by morning." Rudolphus ordered.

Bellatrix looked about to argue, but a firm slap soon stilled her tongue.

"The child has made you soft," Rabastan chuckled, though Isabella could not see how that could be an insult, he said it as though having a child would be the most disastrous thing in the world. Small wonder he had never married. "There was a time that you would not have hesitated."

"Well, now I know what I have got to lose." The mother answered, her voice sounding far away and not just because her husband had begun shoving her forcibly out of the door.

That was the night her parents were arrested. At the time, Isabella was still too young to understand just what for, aside from two people having been hurt and her parents being held responsible – her aunt had had to explain all sorts of things like indictment, incarceration and justice. Above all the Cruciatus curse was not something a six year old could possibly relate to. The loss of a mother was, she realised her joy at never having to see her father again, but her mother… that would be far more difficult.


	2. Arrival

Living with her aunt Andromeda had never been the ideal way to grow up for Isabella, but it was certainly preferable to the other options. It could have been worse, she could have been brought up in the horrible manor house of her other aunt - that none of the Tonks' really seemed to want to talk about, it seemed that the other aunt was almost as treacherous as her mother had been.

Not that Isabella had ever seen it that way; a mother was still a mother, no matter how many hideous crimes she had committed, so long as she treats her child as though they were the most precious being that ever existed. By rights her mother had done so, Isabella remembered clearly how her mother would tuck her into bed and tell her the most wonderful stories and promise her that everything would always be okay because she would always be there for her daughter. Until one day she was not.

Of course, the Tonks' were the best thing to have happened in the situation, they were family – the good side of the family – and she loved them dearly. She and her cousin Nymphadora, who would flay you if she heard you call her that out loud, even 'Dora' was deemed unacceptable and her cousin had the strong notion that her parents had only named her thusly to punish her – the two were inseparable, aside from when Tonks (her preferred name) was attending Hogwarts and now when she was training at the Ministry of Magic. They spent years pranking each other and causing as much trouble as they could.

Now she was alone with her aunt, a woman who looked like a mousey blonde version of her mother only somewhat plumper, and her uncle, a man small of stature and large of spectacles. As wonderful as they were, Isabella was thoroughly tired and frustrated with having to eat, sleep and learn in the same house, the same rooms, in the same ways. She needed space from only really seeing two people every day, she needed friends, and she needed to escape from a place where the only hobby she had was knitting!

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He aunt asked for the tenth time this morning as they ate a breakfast of sausage, egg and bacon in the well-used kitchen, "No one would blame you if you didn't go."

"I need to have some friends my own age." Isabella complained around a mouth full of eggs that had been drowned in more ketchup than would have been edible for pretty much anyone else. " _And_ they _want_ me there, the letter said so." She had received a letter on her July birthday every year since she turned eleven.

"Nymphadora's your friend," Andromeda reminded her. At one point her aunt had not had to persuade her that going to Hogwarts would be difficult, but recently Isabella had been growing stubborn; Andromeda had only just succeeded in convincing the girl to stay home for the year last time.

Isabella sighed heavily, finishing a last piece of tomato-sauce-covered-bacon, "She's also my cousin and she still got to go! I need friends outside of the family and besides, being home schooled isn't going to get me into being an auror, is it?"

"I thought you wanted to be a unicorn handler last week?" Her aunt countered, raising a tired brow and rising from the table, flicking her wand so as to clear away the plates and glasses before them.

"I need options! And real N.E.W.T.s!" Isabella cried in despair. The Tonks' has been home schooling her since she had come to live with them, she had taken her exams in the sitting room, much to her protestation. "Please just let me try it."

"Okay, okay," Her aunt conceded, "I'm just trying to do what's best for you."

The girl felt slightly guilty now, after all everything her aunt did was to make things better for her and now Isabella was practically throwing that away, or so she thought it would seem to her aunt. Hogwarts would not be an easy transition for her and going straight into her penultimate year would be troublesome, but her grades had allowed her to do it and she would finally be able to be around witches and wizards her own age. She had treated it as a mission; she had revised the popular music her cousin told her _everyone_ would be listening to, read all the books that had been bestsellers in Flourish  & Blott's for the last year, and she had even invested in a new wardrobe for when she was not in uniform, muggle clothes of course but ones that were supposedly the 'vogue' as Nymphadora told her.

"We ought to get going, or you'll miss the train." Her uncle Ted announced from the hallway.

Isabella put her plates by the sink to be washed whilst they were out and proceeded to heave her trunk through to the hallway, out the door and scrapped it along the garden path, severely hoping that King's Cross would still have trollies available so she wouldn't have to lug it on board the train. Even Uncle Ted winced as he loaded the trunk into the car.

-8-

King's Cross was far larger than Isabella had imagined and far smellier too, she had never used any sort of muggle transportation before and was rather regretting not having looked into what it would entail earlier, but she would not back out now. Other wizarding families were fairly easy to spot, most of them were still wearing their normal robes and of course they had trunks and a pet with them. Muggles usually preferred suitcases and left their animals at home. Not that anyone seemed to notice. Typical Londoner's too absorbed in their need to rush everywhere to realise that the gentleman next to them maybe wearing a burgundy robe with lilac trim and carrying a newspaper where the images _moved_. Nope, reading _The Daily Mail_ and pretending to be in a hurry was far too important for that.

Platform nine and ten were easy enough to find, right in between eleven and eight. Platform nine-and-three-quarters was not so straightforward to locate.

"Ah, still using the same old entrance, I see," Her uncle chucked, staring fondly at the wall between platforms nine and ten. "I remember once when I was sixteen, my friend Peter was running late and he got stuck halfway in and halfway out, took them two hours to get him out." He grinned. "Muggles went hysterical when they saw it." He laughed heartily.

Was he seriously suggesting she had to go through a wall that was not a wall until a certain time? The idea was ridiculous. Isabella discreetly checked her watch, letting out a breath of relief when she saw that they had plenty of time before the platform closed. She knew then that she should just run at the wall and she would travel safely through and see the other platform and yet the images of hitting the very solid looking surface brought flashes of pain to mind, as did the alternative of being stuck in said wall – a thought that probably would not have crossed her mind had her uncle not mentioned that it could happen.

Another family were gathered around the wall; a fire-haired mother and father along with four ginger children. Two tall boys in matching green jumpers, a small and freckle-ridden younger boy and a small girl who's hair ran lay neatly on her shoulders. A dark haired boy was with them, probably a friend, Isabella thought, a red-hair gene as potent as that one would never have missed a child, unless the milkman had interfered.

It was an emotional scene, but obviously one that had happened a few times. One of the eldest was frantically assuring his mother that they would be home for Christmas. One by one they all went through, each of them passing through as easily as they would the surface of a lake. The mother and father turned from the wall, both bleary eyed, when the mother's gaze rested on Isabella. The husband glared sharply and twisted his wife away as though to shield her from the strike of a snake.

That was the first taste of what Isabella had known would come, only she had not figured it would come from the mere sight of her. The woman twisted in her husband's grasp and eyed her suspiciously, as though Isabella might poison the very air they breathed if not kept in line of sight. Isabella cold not stand to look at her anymore and averted her gaze to find an even more unwelcome sight. The Malfoys.

It had been three glorious, blissful years since she had last seen that side of her family and she would gladly wait that a thousand times over before seeing them again. They had not changed in the slightest, all startlingly blonde and ridiculously thin, their bony features welded into an insufferable mask of superiority – it was like there was a bad smell and they were angry about it, which there probably was and they probably were – all their eyes were the same hard grey and targeting Isabella greedily.

"Bella!" Crooned her aunt Narcissa dramatically, "How you've grown!" She pulled the girl into a hug in which Isabella definitely did not reciprocate, not that Narcissa seemed to care. "You look just like your mother," It was true, Andromeda had always told her as much. She shared the same wide eyes and tangled curls and the same curves, even at sixteen. The only difference was that in the photographs she had of her mother, Bellatrix's eyes shone with a hidden darkness and her curling mess suggested she would never be tamed, whereas Isabella's eyes were filled with an innocent curiosity and her hair gave her the impression of an adventurous nature.

Lucius smirked, "Yes, yes, she would have been proud…" He paused, "But not as proud as your father." He proclaimed loudly. Lucius knew Isabella had no love for her father, as far as she was concerned it was her father's fault that he and her mother were imprisoned, her mother would never have left her so willingly. A belief that the Malfoys felt it their mission in life to uproot whenever they happened to see her.

Isabella stood woodenly, looking helplessly to her aunt Andromeda as to how she should proceed. It was always better to not insult the Malfoy's outright, even though everyone knew how undesirable they were, they were still a noble and well-connected family, and they could crush anyone they sought to in an instant. In the end, she did not have to do anything at all.

"Father, can we go! Now!" Draco whined, his ferret-like face contorted in a tantrum. He was only fourteen, but Isabella could already see a vindictive streak brewing within him, about to bubble over in a stream of maliciousness.

"I think your child wants to go," Uncle Ted commented coolly, as though he did not want the three of them to disappear from the face of the Earth. The Malfoys had disowned Ted's wife and their daughter when they discovered she had married him, a muggle-born. Isabella could not think of a more ridiculous reason to disown a family member than that. He needed to watch how he tread next, another comment like that could land him in trouble.

Lucius squared up to the dark-haired, bespectacled Ted Tonks, towering over his miniscule opponent. "I would think very carefully about any words that spill from your lips, they might just be-"

"FATHER!" Draco cried, severely annoyed that his request had not been followed immediately. He was one of those children who, were it both considered polite and legal, anyone would gladly give a little punch now and then. He just had one of those faces and he definitely had one of those personalities. Perhaps if mummy and daddy had not spoilt him quite so much, he would have been a tolerable human being, but as it were he left a lot to be desired.

With a hateful glance acquiesced to his son's request, the blond wizard swooped away, disappearing with his wife and son through the wall without another word.

"Are you really sure you want to go to the same school as _that_?" Uncle Ted asked, only half joking.

Isabella nodded, "I won't be in the same _House_ as him, will I?" Though it was her mother's house, she knew she would not stay if they put her in there. People would only use it as further ammunition.

"Not if you're not supposed to be," Andromeda muttered vaguely.

She had thought on it before, the idea of being in Slytherin was utterly vile to Isabella, despite it being the House of both her parents. She had expectations of Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, she was loyal and intelligent after all so why not? Even the name Slytherin sounded hideous to her.

"Come on, you'll be late if you don't go through now!" Ted warned.

Isabella blanched, not wanting to be sliced in half by a wall. "You're not coming with me? To the platform?"

"Not with the Malfoys," Andromeda fussed with the back of Isabella's hood, patting it down smoothly, "don't want to cause a scene," she mumbled.

Uncle Ted pulled her into an embrace, "You'll see us in the holidays - don't worry." His smile was warm, but his eyes spoke of a million sorrows. They had brought her up for the last nine years and now she was leaving them, of course they would be upset.

"I will miss you both," Isabella promised, giving Aunt Andromeda a tight hug.

These good-byes were undoubtedly hard, but Isabella had a feeling that saying hello would be just as much of a challenge.

-8-

Waiting in line to have her trunk loaded upon the train, Isabella had noticed the luggage handler do a dramatic double take as she reached the front of the queue. His eyes went as wide as saucers, but at least he said nothing derogatory; in fact he said nothing at all. With the other children he had spoken nice words, asked about their summers, that sort of thing. It gave Isabella a somewhat hollow feeling in her stomach to be dismissed like that, even a few horrible comments would have made her feel a little less hated. At least if he had insulted her she would not feel quite so insignificant.

It was, if anything, worse on board the scarlet Hogwarts Express. By this time, most of the compartments were full of filling up. It was a good few carriages before she had spotted an empty seat amongst a group that looked about her age. There were only four people in their and room for at least two more.

"Excuse me," She cleared her throat to announce her presence. "May I sit here?" She imagined that would be how a five year old would introduce herself at primary school and resisted the urge to facepalm.

One of the teenagers, a Gryffindor girl with caramel skin and hair of black satin glared at her, "I know you," She announced, scrutinising Isabella's features with displeasure. Isabella already despised her tinny tone. "That's the Lestrange girl."

"You can't sit with us, _Death Eater_." A blonde Hufflepuff asserted, her silvery blue gaze as cutting as glass. The remark sent shivers down her spine, how on Earth could anyone think she could be a Death Eater just by looking at her. Not that it was uncommon, ever since she could remember, the whispers had chased after her.

She noticed two of the red-haired boys from earlier, they looked so alike that Isabella assumed they must be twins. Neither of them argued, but one of them looked at least a little bit interested in letting her sit, though that faded soon enough when his brother launched back into conversation. No one even bothered to ensure she had left, though she would hardly stay after such rudeness.

Isabella trudged away from the compartment, feeling the comments rise behind her as gradually, carriage by carriage, the word spread that the Lestrange girl had joined the wizarding world once more. Finally, toward the very end of the train, Isabella found an almost empty compartment and sat herself down.

The only other occupant was a slumbering boy of about thirteen or fourteen, Isabella could not tell. His clothes were tightly wrapped about his middle that was maybe larger than his robes would have liked and his hair was definitely in need of a comb and a wash, his face was flushed even in sleep. She made up her mind that it would be easier to ignore him than try to find another carriage. If he was asleep, he would not mind her presence.

She looked at her reflection in the window and saw not the sixteen year old girl with her hair tied back messily and fresh school robes thrown on excitedly, but a tired girl much older than she was who would never fit in. The longer she looked, the more she could see her mother in herself; she wondered if it was her mother's face that people were seeing instead of her own. Once the thought of looking like her mother would have made her endlessly glad, but now she was not so sure how she should feel about it. Looking like the mother you loved was not so great when your mother also happened to be one of the most hated witches of all time. She often lamented not being a metamorphmagus like Nymphadora.

A crowd of three appeared in the image behind her. A tall ginger boy – possibly one of the boys from earlier, they were all so very ginger, she had not noticed much else about them – a bushy-haired girl and a blue-eyed boy with a curious scar upon his forehead.

"Mind if we join you? Everywhere else is full." The girl asked pleasantly, it was although she had no idea who Isabella was.

"Not at all," Isabella beamed, it would be nice to have some company; it was going to be a long journey after all. Nymphadora had not stinted on the details of what it would be like, that and other things.

The girl sat down opposite her, next to the sleeping stranger, smiling in thanks. "I'm Hermione Granger and this is Ron Weasley," She indicated the red-haired boy beside her, "and Harry Potter." The dark-haired one who had sat next to Isabella.

"Isabella," She announced, not wanting to throw away her chance of friendship by giving her last name.

"I've not seen you before," Hermione noted, "Are you from a different school?"

Isabella hesitated, "Not exactly, I was home schooled by my aunt and uncle," She explained. She did not particularly want to say who her parents were, nor did she really want to have to lie.

"What happened to your parents?" Harry asked intuitively, his eyes lighting up. Even Isabella had heard of Harry Potter, the boy that thwarted You Know Who, he had lost his parents to the Dark Lord; in a way so had Isabella.

She floundered. "They were…"

" _Incarcerated_." A voice drawled with unconcealed pleasure, "That the word you were looking for, dearest cousin?" It was none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Get away, you filthy toad." Isabella demanded. He had to ruin everything. Isabella had not known these three for more than thirty seconds and not they would not want anything to do with her.

Draco tittered, "I had thought you claimed be more _selective_ of your friends, Potter."

"What do you mean, Malfoy?" Harry questioned, switching his gaze between the two. Malfoy wore a twisted grin something akin to pure unadulterated delight in stirring things up, a trait he had no doubt inherited from his father. "Spit it out!" Harry demanded.

"Did you not know Miss Lestrange was joining us this year?" Malfoy asked in feigned disbelief. His little piggy eyes widening in mock horror.

"Lestrange!" Ron gasped, slotting together the pieces. "Your mother is Bellatrix Lestrange!"

"Who's that?" Harry asked, thoroughly confused.

Ron's chest swelled with pride at being the knowledgeable one, something told her that did not happen often. "Only one of the most dangerous witches for a century!" Exclaimed the ginger.

Isabella hung her head to shield herself from their gaze and to prevent them from seeing how her eyes were tearing up already. Malfoy left, laughing gleefully at Isabella, who had sunk her head almost to her knees by this point.

"Is it true?" Harry asked, his voice softer than she would have expected.

Isabella bobbed her head in confirmation, a lump in her throat making it harder to breathe normally let alone speak. She still wouldn't raise her eyes.

"Well," Ron muttered, letting out a low whistle, "At least there'll be someone more talked about than you this year, Harry." He clapped his friend on the back conspiratorially.

Harry let out a bark of a laugh, "Finally, some peace."

Isabella looked up the way a confused puppy would when handed a treat it has never seen before. "I can leave if you'd prefer not to be seen with me, I understand," She sniffed.

Hermione gave her a shocked look, "Why would we want that?"

"Yeah, you're hardly trying to curse us." Ron agreed, earning a prod from Hermione's elbow at his tactless, yet harmless response.

Harry stared her straight in the eyes, "You don't have to be the same as your parents; it's a choice." He said simply. "You don't seem like a bad person anyway."

"Thanks," Isabella mumbled lamely. At least they were not throwing her out, but perhaps they would be a little more cautious around her.

-8-

Isabella was to enter the castle alone ahead of anyone else. The Great Hall was empty, but for one woman, for which Isabella was glad. It would be utterly humiliating having to have her sorting with the first years. Apparently there was a precedent for children joining after having been home-schooled.

The Great Hall was, well, great. It was a cavernous room with long, shimmering tapestries that lined the walls carrying the crests of each house, enormous windows towered to what would be the celling – only there was not celling, no visible one anyway. In place of a roof, there seemed to be nothing but candles separating the hall from the sky. She was certain that she would see the rain, but most likely it would be a bewitchment, not real. Health and safety would not allow such a thing, if they even had health and safety rules here. Long tables lined by benches filled the empty space and directed attention to a raised platform upon which another table, presumably for teachers, stood commanding the area ahead. In front of that was the first teacher Isabella would ever meet.

The woman had a severe, thin mouth and sharp eyes that spoke of a strictness that would not waver, but they softened when they met Isabella's whispering a kindness that seemed to mean she would be just with her decisions. She word long emerald robes trimmed with a red tartan and a black brimmed hat with a trim to match. Her spectacles had slipped dangerously low, though she never once pushed them back up and they never fell.

"Welcome," She greeted in a smooth Scottish brogue, "to Hogwarts. I am Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House. I will be the one to Sort you." She gestured toward the stool on stage before her and rose a tattered and patched old wizarding hat that must have once been grand, but was now in such disrepair that it seemed too fragile to wear. "This is all we will need for the Sorting, it should only take a few minutes and that is just what we have, my dear." She was neither overly friendly nor dismissive. Isabella decided this was a woman who would judge her as she got to know her. That would probably be for the best.

Isabella clamoured up the steps to the stage and briskly sat upon the stool. McGonagall's lips quirked approvingly, though she did not smile freely. She reached above Isabella and placed the hat upon her head. It smelled as bad as it looked.

 _Well you would smell if you'd been worn by thousands of witches and wizards too,_ a voice snapped back irritably. _Since the birth of the Sorting I have been used, so you will forgive me if I do not smell all that appealing._

Isabella fought the urge to flinch. McGonagall was surveying her very carefully and Isabella was certain that the teacher could not hear what the hat – even the notion that it could be the hat speaking was absurd – was saying.

 _You have a great mind, of course… others have had similar minds… Intelligent, but not arrogant… Good, good… A thirst for friendship… A talent for finding trouble… Perhaps you would like to be with your cousin? Hm? Hmm?_

"No!" She had meant to think the word, but her feelings were too strong. McGonagall did not seem unnerved, maybe this happened often in her experience. Isabella would not go to Slytherin. She would not be put with that ferret-faced brat.

 _Perhaps not… You have loyalty, you would do well in Hufflepuff… Your mind would get any Ravenclaw very far indeed… You are brave to come here, knowing how you might be received…_

Isabella waited, her heart paused, her breath bated.

 _I suppose it will have to be…_

The hat was making her wait deliberately, testing her patience. It seemed she had passed. She could feel sweat beading at her hairline, no wonder the hat smelled so foul if every student was like this. At that thought, she could feel the hat smirk upon her head.

"Gryffindor!" The hat exclaimed out loud. Almost upsetting itself and falling from her head. Luckily for the hat, McGonagall caught it just in time.

"Congratulations, Miss Lestrange, welcome to Gryffindor." McGonagall said, she did not appear sad, but something tugged the corners her mouth downwards. "Before you take your seat, there is something I must warn you of." She gestured for Isabella to walk with her, from the stage and to the second table across the room. "There is a student you should not expect to be pleased of your arrival." Her expression was grave as she spoke.

Isabella nodded for the teacher to go on.

"His name is Neville," She told the student. "Neville Longbottom. I trust I need not explain why?"

She need not. Longbottom was the name of the family whose lives were ruined the night her parents disappeared, the victims of the crime that put them in Azkaban. A guilt that was not her own rose like bile up her throat, her stomach roiled. How could she face the boy whose life her parents had utterly destroyed?

"He will likely be afraid," She continued, "But you must show him that he has nothing to fear from you. Even if that means never uttering a word to him."

Isabella nodded, she could not imagine having to see the face of someone remotely related to anyone who had taken her parents away from her like that.

McGonagall seemed satisfied. "Very well then."

She left Isabella to climb onto the bench at the Gryffindor table as she opened the main door to admit the hundreds of other students waiting outside. A ripple of mutterings flowed through the crowd as they spied what table she was sat at, but sharp glances from Professor McGonagall prevented anything further. Pupils filed into their correct house tables. Isabella thought for the longest time that she would be surrounded by stretches of empty bench until the three young students from the train plonked themselves across from her.

"Enjoying the fame?" Ron joked.

"Every minute," Isabella shot back dryly, it was better to joke about this kind of thing. Uncle Ted would pretend people in Diagon Alley were staring at him for some great deed he had done and not her for her resemblance to a hated couple.

Harry rolled his eyes, "It gets better," He was not entirely convincing, but at least he was trying.

She did not understand why he would be so conspiratorial, after all his parents were killed by the wizard her parents served. "I can't exactly believe people would hate you." Isabella pointed out.

"They don't hate you," Harry reasoned, "They just don't know you."

She shrugged, "Neither do you." Isabella did not quite know why she should argue, but the words fell from her mouth without her thinking.

"Let's get to know you then," A voice boomed from her left, she had not even noticed anyone sit down. Not that she peered over she saw the two red-headed boys from the first carriage.

"That's George, the other one's Fred." Ron informed her, as though he were tired of their presence all ready. Clearly he was the youngest boy of the family; that kind of bored indifference always came from a younger sibling.

The one beside her winked, "Or is it the other way around?" He added a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows for dramatic effect. He also had freckles, though not nearly so many as Ron, more of a light dusting.

"I'm not mum!" Ron complained, "I never mix you up!" He assured her, though examining the twins she was almost certain they could mix themselves up some days.

The furthest twin laughed, "George wishes people mistook us," He insisted, puffing out his chest importantly, "Only because I'm better looking, of course."

"Of course." Hermione chuckled over George's indignant batting of Fred's head.

"So Le _strange_ , you have a first name?" Fred asked once he had recovered from his brother's blows, putting on a French accent for the 'strange'.

She actually managed a grin. "Isabella," She answered.

"So… Bella?" George suggested. People rarely left her name as it was.

"No." She snapped, then grimaced apologetically.

"Of course not." Hermione shook her head knowingly at Fred. She swiftly changed subjects, something that Isabella would be forever grateful for. "Have you been to any wizarding schools before?"

Isabella chewed her lip, "It took a while to convince my aunt and uncle, they wanted to home-school me right through my N.E.W.T.s" She explained, if Andromeda had had her way she would indeed have done just that.

"You did your O.W.L.s from home?" Hermione was fascinated, Isabella guessed she might be a muggle-born with her interest.

Isabella grimaced at the memory. "Yeah, it was really awkward, they had invigilators come to my house and everything." They had done nothing but stare intensely at her for hours whilst she tried to work. It was incredibly off-putting, what she would not have given to have a hundred other students with her.

"How did you do?" Hermione pressed

Isabella shrugged, her grades had never been anything to speak of, since the only person she competed with in classes had always been herself. "Ten Outstanding and an Exceeds Expectations."

"Blimey! Eleven O.W.L.s!" George exclaimed. "No wonder they let you in so easily."

"Yeah," gasped Fred, "More than the two of us combined!" He was only just joking.

The girl blushed, but said nothing. He cousin, Nymphadora, had ten O.W.L.s and a number of N.E.W.T.s so she had never thought it might be unusual, though it did explain how her cousin had managed to get training as an auror.

Before anyone else could say anymore on the topic, Professor McGonagall had managed to round up the first years and wrangle them into a line for the official Sorting. The nervous eleven year olds trembled before the platform as teachers filled the great long table behind it.

They were an odd bunch of intellectuals to say the least, from the tall greasy haired, hook-nosed fellow, to the stout and curly-mopped madam who still wore gardening gloves and earmuffs. The one that commanded the room though was Albus Dumbledore, though she had never seen the man before, he was unmistakably the Headmaster even as he walked to the Head's chair – which looked to Isabella more like a throne.

His bright azure eyes twinkled knowingly beneath half-moon spectacles, a white beard so long it had to be tucked into his belt, and hair so thick it melded with his beard.

"Welcome to our new faces," He gestured to the terrified youngsters up front, "And to our old hands, welcome back!" Fred and George lead a raucous cheer for their mention, not that the Headmaster seemed to mind, in fact Isabella had the suspicion that the old man enjoyed it. "I trust you all had the most wondrous of summers and are prepared for the most wondrous of years," he paused for the laughter that he anticipated would follow. "For this year we have some exciting news. Hundreds of years ago the wizarding world upheld a mighty tradition, a tradition in which students would compete for the glory of their school." Dumbledore shrugged, "And a rather large sum of money." His mouth took a serious turn, "It was extremely difficult, exhausting and potentially fatal for those involved." A murmur bubbled its way up and down the benches. "It gives me great pleasure to announce that the Triwizard Cup will once again take place, with Hogwarts being the location for this year. However, there will be one detail that we are to alter…"

"Not the money!" Fred called out in distress.

Dumbledore chuckled, "No, Mr. Weasley. The winning student will get their well-earned prize, but due to Ministry instated ruling participants shall be no younger than seventeen so as-"

The uproar that sounded from the students who were too young to qualify drowned out the rest of the old wizard's words. Fred and George were particularly strong in voicing their opinions on the matter and she was certain she even heard Ron cursing it. Even the sky above seemed to grow uneasy. The only ones who seemed at all content with the decision were those who were already seventeen and those who did not care to enter. Interestingly, Harry appeared rather relieved that he would not be expected to put his name forward.

"SILENCE!"

A clap of thunder shattered the noise, leaving the stillness that the figure who shouted had desired. A man, slightly hunch-shouldered and squat, lowered the wand that had righted the sky to its neutrality. He had one real eye and then another unsettlingly false eye, the latter eye roved at a hundred times the speed of its partner and the real eyes seemed to want to observe every occupant of this room at once as it was.

"As some of you may know," Dumbledore resumed, "We sadly lost our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for personal reasons and I am pleased to announce Professor Moody as his replacement." He gestured to the man who was now trying to fall back into the shadows. "I trust you will all welcome him with respect."

"Dad calls him Mad Eye Moody," Ron whispered as Dumbledore continued his welcoming speech.

George shrugged. "Well I guess this year should be a bit of fun." He joked. Isabella hoped it would be. More than anything.


End file.
